


Revenge of the Jedi

by borgmama1of5



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 10:45:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1685519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/borgmama1of5/pseuds/borgmama1of5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"No, Dean, I wouldn't. Same circumstances, I wouldn't."</p><p>An alternative way season 9 could have ended, what the Mark did to Dean and what Sam did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revenge of the Jedi

Sam curses himself nonstop as he presses his foot down on the gas pedal.

He never asked. He never fucking asked. 

*** 

In the six weeks since he got back in the Impala with Dean, they’ve been professional. Gone back to the bunker, to their separate rooms, and worked hunts. Mostly ones Sam’s found. He’ll say, “Four mysterious deaths in Utah…” and before he finishes the sentence Dean says he’ll be ready in five. Maybe three times Dean’s suggested checking something out. Cas calls Dean every few days and Dean reports Cas hasn’t had any breakthroughs on locating Metatron or Gadreel or figuring what else to do about the angel fanatics running around loose. 

When they’re not out, meals show up in front of Sam without fanfare. Sometimes they eat sitting silently together at the table, but more often Sam eats his meal alone. As he walks past Dean eating his eggs or burger or pasta at the kitchen table, Sam offers ‘thanks’ as he puts his dishes in the sink. Dean nods acknowledgment. They talk, but only about hunting or angels. Dean’s jaw is always tight, his eyes look away even when they discuss mundane matters like a trip into town to get supplies. One or the other of them goes, it doesn’t take both of them to pick up groceries and beer. 

Sam accepts the solitude of the library and the brief interactions with Dean as the norm now. Hunting partners. Because they do work well as a team in the field. And if Dean’s quietness feels eerie, well, Dean ought to feel guilty about what he did. 

Until the morning Dean carries his duffle past Sam and starts up the bunker’s stairs. 

“Going out. Probably a couple days. Just something I have to take care of on my own.” Dean shifts the strap of the bag as Sam simply looks at him. 

After a moment of meeting Sam’s eyes, Dean adds, “Nothing one person can’t handle.” For a moment Sam thinks Dean is going to say something more, but Dean just turns away. 

“Is it something to do with angels?” 

“Nope. Nothing at all.” 

The flat tone of Dean’s voice triggers a rush of anger. Dean was the one who’d broken Sam’s trust, he has no right to hide something from Sam. 

“Hey, you want to work on your own, fine. But you owe me the facts before you waltz out on me, Dean. No secrets.” 

Dean stops at the top of the stairs. “I get it. I screwed you over. But this has nothing to do with you, Sam, and if it gets your panties in a twist and you want to leave, I guess you will. Leave a note so I don’t waste time looking all over the damn place for you.” 

Sam can only gape as Dean shuts the bunker door behind him. 

“Asshole,” he finally mutters, and goes back to searching for signs of monsters online. 

*** 

The morning of the third day after Dean’s departure, Sam’s phone rings. 

“Sam. How could you let your brother do this alone?” 

“Cas … What? What are you talking about?” 

“Facing Abaddon.“ 

Fuck. “Dean left. He didn’t tell me where he was going or what he was doing.” And if he gets himself torn to pieces … “Goddamn him.” Dean didn’t want him involved. Protecting Sam again. Part of Sam wants to hang up and let Dean deal with his own mess … and part of him, the part he’d thought was gone, is terrified of what could happen to Dean. 

 “Where is he, Cas? What’s going on?” 

“Crowley arranged for Dean to fight Abaddon with the First Blade … I believe Dean called it a ‘cage match.’ He is in Gallatin, Tennessee. Heading to a warehouse teeming with demons.” 

*** 

Sam drives like a bat out of hell. No irony intended. Makes the eight-hour drive in six. Squeals the car he’d lifted to a stop in front of a concrete block building where Cas said Dean and Abaddon would be. Faded sign says ‘Harenger’s Building Supplies.’ 

He steps around the randomly strewn corpses between the car and the door. Realizes from their positions these demons were killed fleeing from what was inside the warehouse, and breaks into a run. 

Inside is worse, the floor covered with grotesquely distorted bodies, blood splattered in hideous patterns on the cement. Sam has seen corpses eviscerated by werewolves but he is stunned by the savageness of this slaughter, chest cavities gouged open and pulped insides spilling across the floor. He steps carefully, demon-killing knife raised, glancing at each body to confirm none of them are Dean, each negative confirmation vibrating through his body. 

He finds Abaddon lying alone near the center of the room, her eyes a blue-glass reflection of the carnage surrounding her. Face unmarked, mouth trapped in a final sneer. Below her collarbone, her body is simply a raw, jagged hole with sharp ends of ribs protruding from pulverized internal organs. 

Sam wants to be sick. 

Where is Dean? 

He whirls at the scrape of a shoe on concrete. 

“Hello, Moose.” 

“Crowley!” Sam holds the knife steady, lowers his voice to lethal. “Where’s Dean?” 

“Oh,” Crowley makes a show of thinking. “Probably halfway to Texas now, he’s got quite the long to-do list. Actually, more like to-kill list …” 

“What the fuck do you mean?” 

“Here I wondered if a Winchester would ever amount to anything, but your brother’s done the family name proud.” Crowley pauses, savors Sam’s grim expression. “Dean is a Knight of Hell now— the First Knight, actually. Right now he’s the only Knight, but I know he’ll put together a top-notch battalion as soon as he has time to hold his American Idol auditions.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Your brother has occasionally had an impressive day or two as a hunter, but with that Blade in his hands he is magnificent. He did all this himself, no hesitation. He might even be a match against the angels.” 

“I am going to kill you.” 

“You might want to think a moment before you start tossing out idle threats, Moose. The First Knight serves the King of Hell. Who just happens to be, well, yours truly. Dean might interpret your ineffective posturing as aggressive and that could have … unfortunate results.” 

“Dean would never work for you, Crowley!” 

“Oh, Sam, I have you to thank for giving Dean that final push to the dark side… whatever you said to him was exactly the motivation he needed to accept his destiny as Cain’s heir. I really need to send you a fruit basket in appreciation. It would have been so much harder to convince him to play on my team if he still thought he had something to lose.” 

No, Sam thinks wildly, this can’t be his fault. “What did you do to him?” 

“I didn’t do anything. Dean did it all himself. The Mark of Cain purified him to his essence. No more wavering over who should live, who should die. He stopped playing by outmoded scruples and unleashed who he really is.” Crowley waves at Abaddon’s corpse. “I simply handed him the weapon he deserved, and you see the result. I actually think Dean felt good releasing his … inner demon.” 

Sam jumps forward without conscious thought. The knife pierces Crowley, but he only looks annoyed. “Really, Sam, this is my favorite suit.” 

Crowley vanishes. 

And Sam has no idea what to do next. 

*** 

The murders are brutal. But they are spread out, and of insignificant people, and the authorities haven’t bothered to notice the pattern. 

But Sam sees it. 

Tracey Bell. 

Charlie Mackey. 

Raj Gunderson. 

All hunters. 

He views the bodies at the morgues. Each has been destroyed with the same inhuman force. Gaping hole where there should have been a chest. 

He wants it to be a shapeshifter. A leftover Leviathan. Or even demon possession. 

Not Dean. 

He calls Cas—prayer and cellphone—but he doesn’t answer. 

Research tells him what he already knows – God marked Cain so that others wouldn’t kill him for the sin of murdering his brother. But that’s all he finds. 

He searches ineffectively through the Men of Letters files, but there’s nothing there either. 

Sam thinks he should warn the remaining hunters. But he can’t figure out what he could say. “Watch out for Dean, he’s currently on a homicidal binge murdering hunters, just avoid him if you can but if you do see him give me a call before you go into hiding, okay?…” 

The name on the caller ID makes Sam’s heart freeze. 

“Sam?” He’s never heard such fear in Krissy’s voice. “Is … is something wrong with Dean? I think …” 

All the other killings had taken place in isolated spots. 

“Get yourself to a public place with a lot of people and stay there. I’m on my way.” 

“What’s wrong with Dean?” Her voice breaks on the question. 

“I’ll explain when I get there. Just stay with other people and you should be safe.” 

*** 

Sam hears the tiny sigh of displaced air a second before Castiel’s ‘Sam’ so he is able to keep the instinctive jerk of the steering wheel under control. 

“I’ve found someone to help us.” 

Sam looks in the review mirror and swerves onto the shoulder and brakes hard. 

“What is he doing here?!” Sam is out of the car and backing away, aware that the weapon he needs is locked in the trunk in his bag. 

“Sam.” Cas is between Sam and the man—angel—getting out of the back seat, “Gadreel can help.” 

“Why isn’t he dead?” 

“Gadreel was deceived by Metratron, just as I was. He sees now what he did was wrong. He will help us save Dean.” 

“No.” 

“Sam …” 

“No.” Sam tries to circle around Cas, thinks there’s a chance he could get the trunk open and the angel blade out before Cas stops him. 

Gadreel ‘s voice is void of emotion. “I told you, Castiel, he would not accept my help. I am sorry, Sam Winchester, for the wrong that I have done you and your brother. I wanted to help … I wanted to redeem myself. I failed, and it is you who suffered, and I am sorry.” 

Gadreel bows his head and walks away from the car. 

Sam needs to know if Cas has answers. “Crowley says that Dean is the First Knight of Hell. He killed Abaddon. Now he’s killing hunters. How do I stop him?” 

“Gadreel thinks …” 

Sam doesn't want to hear Gadreel's thoughts. “No. He’s not coming. And when I’m done saving Dean,” Sam snarls at the retreating angel, “I am going to kill him.” 

“Sam …” 

Sam pushes past Cas, and pulls the car back onto the road with a squeal of tires. 

*** 

Krissy texts that Dean has been stalking her through the aisles of a Wal-Mart but the store is closing and she doesn’t know what to do. 

Sam texts back that he will be there in fifteen minutes. 

*** 

His brother’s eyes are black. 

Dean turns as Sam crashes through the door and Sam’s heart freezes. Dean’s shirt is soaked with red spray. Sam is seconds too late. 

Blood is pooling under Krissy where she lies at Dean’s feet. 

A massive bone knife, a jawbone, Sam realizes, spatters crimson drops over the tile as Dean raises it at him. Sam tracks the drops back to the expanding puddle under the body, and grief settles in Sam like lead. Krissy’s unseeing eyes are wide open, an unbelieving expression on her too-young face. 

For an instant Kevin’s face—black pits instead of eyes—floats over Krissy’s. 

“You shouldn’t have come here.” Dean’s voice is flat but clear. He’s not growling like a creature from a horror movie. It’s the same raspy voice that’s washed over Sam for years. 

“Dean … This isn’t you …” 

“You’re wrong, Sam. It is.” 

Sam desperately denies the evidence in front of him. “No, Dean, you’re not a killer! You hunt monsters … but you save people!” 

“Never saved enough. For every one I saved, two others ended up dying. Every time I thought I was doing the right thing, it wasn’t. Not gonna lie to myself any more. What I do best is kill. So. That’s what I’m gonna do.” 

“Put the Blade down. We’ll find a way to get rid of the Mark. I can’t let you do this!” 

“I don’t want to have to kill you … but you can’t stop me. Leave. Now. I won’t come after you. But if you don’t go, right now, I will kill you.” 

“It’s the Mark, Dean, Cain tricked you. You’re not …” 

Dean steps forward, weapon raised. “Go. Now.” 

A trench-coated figure imposes itself in front of Sam and reaches a hand out.

“Dean. Give me your arm.” 

Dean snarls and thrusts the Blade and Sam hears the horrible crunch of bone smashing through bone, the repellent rush of organs bursting, and he flinches as a blazing light flares and vanishes. Cas gurgles faintly and falls back against Sam who cannot process what has just happened. 

“Finally! And good-bye to that bugger at last!” Sam drops Cas’s body at the words. 

Crowley is standing behind Dean. “Well done. And you might as well finish this one, “Crowley points at Sam, “you know he’s just going to keep turning up like a bad penny.” 

Sam is numb. So many deaths. There’s nothing, no one left. He braces himself, arms at his sides, feels Dean press the knife to his shirt. 

He stares into those emotionless black eyes. He knows this cannot be his brother. 

“Don’t do this, Dean,” he says softly, “you’re more than just a killer.” 

Dean blinks … and green eyes flare. 

Instead of feeling the Blade shred his heart, Sam is pushed aside as Dean whirls with enough force to make the air shimmer. 

He sees the jawbone plunge bluntly through cloth, skin, muscle, breastbone, sees the savage twist that destroys Crowley’s chest, sees Crowley’s face freeze with a startled expression as Dean pulls the weapon out with a final savage grunt. 

The King of Hell crumples. 

Dean stands frozen, staring at the body. 

A figure appears and a hand seizes Dean’s arm before he can react. Dean drops the knife and cries out as he is forced to his knees. 

“No!” Sam tries to move but Gadreel’s other hand flashes out and Sam is immobilized. Smoke rises from Gadreel’s grip on Dean’s forearm. Dean is gasping in pain, trying to pull Gadreel’s hand away. 

Dean throws his head back and screams. 

Gadreel releases him and Dean collapses. Sam can move and he drops to Dean’s side instantly. 

Gadreel’s hand has burned through Dean’s coat and shirts to sear skin. His handprint obliterates Cain’s Mark. 

Sam lowers his head, hears a wheezy breath. Dean is still alive. 

“He is free from the Mark,” the angel announces without inflection, then looks at Cas’ fallen body. 

“I am sorry, brother. Your death is on my conscience as well. I will do my best to carry on as you would want.” 

“Bring him back!” Sam orders. 

“I cannot. The First Blade destroys the essence of life, there is no resurrection possible.” 

Dean’s head on his lap, Sam stares at the rumpled trench coat of the man that put Dean above everything so many times. The man that saved both their lives. Always so human, no matter what he was. 

Krissy’s blood is starting to dry, congealing into brown molasses. So much blood. Enough to drown in. 

How can Dean bear the responsibility for these killings? 

Sam remembers Kevin dying under his hand. The boy’s last, shocked begging gaze, condemning Sam for all time. 

Dean will not be able to live with this. 

“Gadreel. Do one thing for me and I will let you go. Never look for you. But you have to erase Dean’s memories of killing Castiel and Krissy and the other hunters.” 

“Is that what your brother would want?” 

“It’s what he needs. He will never forgive himself … he can’t know. It was the Mark making him do this …” 

“As First Knight, Dean served the King of Hell. But he could not follow the order to kill you.” Gadreel keeps his empty stare on Dean a long moment. 

Sam’s gut constricts with the fear that the angel may refuse. Then a quick nod and Gadreel bends to place his hand on Dean’s forehead. A white glimmer surrounds Dean, almost like a halo. The angel exhales sharply. “I have blurred the memories of his ownership of the Blade and erased his memories of the actual killings. He will sleep now. It will be up to you to explain the deaths in another way.” 

“I will.” 

“Good-bye, Sam. I have work to do. I hope we do not meet again.” 

*** 

The Wal-Mart conveniently provides all the necessary supplies and Sam gathers enough incendiaries to burn down a small city. From the electronics aisle he pieces together a remote detonator. 

He arranges the bodies of their two friends and pours salt over them. He hesitates over the trench coat but leaves it with Castiel. Seeing it would only give Dean false hope. 

He places Crowley some distance away, can’t stomach having him near the others. 

He maneuvers Dean to the Impala waiting in the parking lot. Sam is grateful that Dean remains unconscious. He drives them a safe distance and triggers the remote. 

Tears fill his eyes as the explosion flares sun-bright, bringing the shadows of the surrounding trees into sharp focus. One more fiery ending in their lives. They will never stop paying the price for being born. 

Now he has to get Dean away from here, and create a story to cover Dean’s memory gaps. 

Dean must never know what he actually did … or what Sam did to protect him. 

The irony is bitter indeed. 

*** 

So much blood. 

Puddles of blood, rivers of blood, oceans of blood. 

Enough blood to drown in. 

So many bodies. 

Horrifically mutilated, chests gouged open, one after another after another.  

Frozen in shock, in pain, in terror. 

One face. 

Blue eyes. Fierce eyes. Believing eyes. 

Dead eyes. 

*** 

Sam struggles to get Dean’s inert body down the bunker stairs, into the bedroom. He can find no physical reason for Dean’s continued unconsciousness, the only physical injury Sam can see is the hand-shaped burn on Dean’s forearm. 

But there is no response to Sam’s attempts to wake him. 

By the third day Sam is frantic. Dean’s face is ashen, his closed eyes sunken in his face. Sam raids the bunker medical closet for supplies to put Dean on an IV. He has the rubber tube tied around Dean’s arm and is trying to find the vein for the needle when Dean gasps and jerks away as his eyes stutter open. 

“No! No! I…” 

“Dean!” 

The flailing stops. Sam watches as recognition slowly crosses Dean’s face. 

“Sam?” Dean’s voice is a scratchy whisper. Sam puts the glass of water that’s been sitting on the nightstand in Dean’s hand, helps him raise it to swallow a few sips. 

“How am I here?” Bewilderment as Dean weakly pushes the glass away. 

“What do you remember?” Sam has prepared himself to ask that first, before he attempts to explain … to make up a story … 

To lie. 

“Killing … demons … Abaddon? Crowley?” Dean’s paper-thin voice rises in uncertainty. 

“You did, Dean. You killed both of them.” 

“What … how … I can’t remember … just … blood …” 

“I didn’t see the fight, Dean, I got there after it”— the first one, anyway — “was over. Abaddon, Crowley, and a lot of demons were dead.” Sam stops, wondering if he should get the worst, Cas, over with right away, or wait till Dean is stronger. 

Sam can tell Dean is searching his mind to find something that corroborates what Sam just told him. 

“I remember swinging the First Blade … putting it through Abaddon’s chest …” Dean looks up, sharp-eyed for a moment. “She was laughing until I killed her.” Dean starts coughing. 

“Drink some more water and I’ll get you some soup. You’ve been out of it for three days, you need nourishment.” 

The hard part can wait. 

*** 

“Sam!” There is panic in Dean’s shout. 

He had insisted he could take a shower by himself. Sam flings open the bathroom door. 

Dean is half undressed, staring at his arm. 

“What the fuck is this?” 

Sam knows there is no way to explain it. “I don’t know.” 

“Who did this? Did Cas—“ 

“Dean, when I found you … you were on the ground surrounded by bodies … including Cas …” 

Sam thinks Dean stops breathing. 

“Cas is … Cas is dead?” His voice breaks on the last word. 

“I’m sorry, Dean. I didn’t want to tell you yet. The mark was on your arm, I don’t know how it got there.” 

Dean slowly sinks to sit on the closed toilet. 

“Everyone’s gone.” 

Sam rests a hand on his brother’s shoulder. 

“Not everyone. I’m here. I’m staying.” 

*** 

They stay inside the bunker. Dean is listless, lethargic, and Sam wants the apathetic look in Dean’s eyes to go away. 

Sam ignores the outside world until Dean is at least eating again. Not heartily, but enough. Finally he takes a look at his usual web pages to see if he can find out what has been happening since the top spot in Hell opened up. He’s thinking that he hasn’t seen so many chaotic demon indications since the Devil’s Gate was opened in Wyoming. 

He’s reluctant to say anything to Dean who doesn’t look remotely ready to go hunting. 

 _Saving people, hunting things_. He’s tried giving it up so many times … But this time the decision to ignore the job is because he needs to fix Dean first. Though he has no idea how to do that. 

*** 

In his blood-drenched nightmares, Castiel’s chest implodes as he stares at Dean with sorrow-filled eyes. 

He wants to ask Sam. 

But he won’t. 

*** 

Someone is pounding on the bunker’s steel door. Sam is up the stairs with his gun in hand faster than should be possible. There’s no peephole and no more sound, and for a moment he thinks maybe he imagined it. 

The banging starts again. 

He opens the door the tiniest crack and pokes the tip of the gun at the suited man whose hand is paused mid-knock. 

“Dean Winchester?” 

Sam growls. “Who the hell are you and what do you want?” 

“I am Pahaliah. Gadreel sent us.”

 “The fuck.” Sam sees a small group of people — angels — waiting expectantly on the other side of the road. 

“You can’t be here!” Sam hisses. 

“Gadreel said —“ 

Sam steps out, pulls the door behind him. “You do not mention his name. Ever. Now. Why the fuck are you here?” 

“Ga— he said that we could be of best service to the cause by helping the Winchesters. And he told us where to find you.” 

Of course. Gadreel knows where the bunker is. And now so do who knows how many angels… 

“’Cause?’ What ‘cause’ do you mean?” 

“Ga … His mission is to retake heaven from Metatron. When Castiel was destroyed, G—he took over as our leader. He said we must help you.” 

“What do you think you can do for us?” 

Another angel, an African-American woman, has stepped closer during the conversation. Now, with a pronounced Caribbean accent, she speaks. 

“Mr. Winchester, sir, we can help you with the demon infestation. If you direct us to them we will fight them for you. Even though we do not have our wings, we do have our weapons, and our vessels benefit from our innate speed and strength. Our Leader is concerned that the flood of uncontrolled evil loosed from Hell because of its leaderless state is causing unnecessary harm to humanity.” 

Pahaliah takes over the explanation. “Because the souls who should be going to Heaven are trapped between realms and more and more of them have been dispatched by the hand of a demon, the veil risks being overrun with spirits caught in despair and fear. And more of them seek vengeance in this realm. Surely you have noticed the increase in hauntings?” 

“How many of you are there?” 

“Seven of us are here. More are coming.” 

“How many more?” 

The woman speaks again. “There should be eleven joining us, though we have not heard from Jehoel or Jophiel and we fear the worst.” 

“Okay.” Sam thinks quickly. Angel allies against the demons is not a bad idea — if they can be trusted. Which he doesn’t. 

He does not want them in the bunker. 

“You have money? Credit cards? You need to find somewhere to stay, one of the motels along the highway. There’s a Biggerson’s restaurant not too far along route 281. I will meet the two of you — just the two of you — in the parking lot there tomorrow morning at ten.” 

“We will do as you instruct, Dean Winchester.” 

“I’m Sam. And you are not to let any other angels know of this location, do you understand? Don’t let it get broadcast on your angel radio.” Sam glares for emphasis. 

“Certainly.” 

After he’s watched them leave, Sam locks the door and rests his head against it for support. 

He once turned down leadership of a demon army. Now he’s been given an angel army instead? 

*** 

To Sam's surprise, the angels are actually useful. He sends them out to areas of concentrated demon activity to protect the innocent and finds himself feeling less guilty about hiding in the bunker. Because that's what he's doing, since he doesn't want to make Dean go out until he's recovered, and he can't leave his brother alone now. He's never seen Dean in such an apathetic state … it's worse than when they were fighting Michael and Lucifer, when Cas freed the Leviathans, when Bobby died ... Dean just doesn't respond to anything. 

He's not even drinking. 

“C'mon, Dean, you have to eat.” 

No reaction. 

“Do I have to fly the spoon into the hangar door?” He waits for the snarky response, _you just try it, Sammy_ he can hear in his head, but Dean doesn't even look up. 

Sam sits down heavily on the chair next to his brother. 

“Dean. You gotta talk to me.” He puts his hand to Dean's stubbled chin, turns Dean's head so he has to look at Sam's face. “You won, Dean. Abaddon and Crowley are both gone. You did it. And I get it, we lost Cas, and that hurts, but he wouldn't want you to stop because he's gone. There's still evil out there to fight, people to save. Dick angels still cluttering up the world. And I'm not leaving you, we're in this together. From now on, the two of us. Okay?” 

When Dean finally speaks his voice is rusty, barely audible. 

“It's all blood, Sammy. That's all I see. All the time. And my arm, it burns. Like even though the Mark is gone, it still wants the Blade. The power. Nothing could stop me. And I want that feeling back … and it terrifies me like … like what I did in Hell, Sam, only worse. Ten times, hundred times worse. I shouldn't be here.” 

Sam picks his words carefully. This is the most Dean has talked since Sam brought him here after the carnage. 

“I know what it feels like, to want to have that kind of power. When I was souped up on demon blood I was invincible, and right, and it was the best feeling in the world. But what I did with it … well, I almost ended the world. Would have, if you hadn't stopped me. So I know how it feels right even though you know it's wrong. But you did something good with that terrible power, got rid of the two worst demons torturing humanity just for fun. And now it's over, and the pull will lessen, I know it will, it takes time, but it will.” 

“I'm a monster, just like what we hunt.” 

“No, Dean. You're not a monster just because you held that Blade. You're not.” 

Dean's only response to that is a slight shake of his head. 

But he eats a little of his soup. 

*** 

“Where is it, Sam?” 

Sam knows what Dean is asking about, but pretends he doesn't to see what his brother will say. 

“It … the Bl —” Dean takes a breath. “The Blade. What did you do with it?” 

He'd thrown it in the trunk of the Impala, he didn't dare leave such a weapon loose, and now Sam realizes he's forgotten it there. Sam looks at the gray circles under Dean's eyes, the only color in his brother's white face, and evades the question. 

"Why do you want to know?" 

A flash of irritation, the first animation Dean's shown in ages. "Can you just answer the fucking question?" 

"It's secure." Sam decides to take a chance. "There's what looks like a salt-n-burn not far ... Do you feel up to tackling a hunt?" 

Sam can't interpret the expression that flashes across his brother's face. So he reaches across the table and flips the Impala's keys at Dean, who catches them unthinkingly. 

“Meet you at the car in ten,” Sam says, and leaves the room before Dean can answer. 

*** 

A dirty film filters everything. 

Fingers curl around what should be familiar … but his hands clench the wheel too tightly and his arm muscles ache. 

The silence pounds over miles without speaking. 

Sam hands him the shotgun, takes the shovel, leads the way to a heartless stone marker. 

Dean watches, knows how to do this job. 

Rocksalt shatters the coalescing mist and a spike of satisfaction curls his lip. He wants it to form again so he can destroy it another time. He feels the warm rush of flames from the grave before he can shoot again and disappointment surges. 

For just a moment his purpose was clear. 

*** 

Sam knows they could have made it back to Lebanon tonight but he's hoping a change of scenery will spark something more in Dean. He'd seen, peripherally, Dean snap to alertness when the ghost approached, and he'd watched Dean obliterate it without hesitation. He thinks the hunter part of Dean is still there and wonders if he can use it as a hook to pull Dean back together. 

Dean's back to the shadow of himself once they leave the cemetery, but Sam has to try. 

“Let's stop there.” Sam points to a red neon sign for Shaggy's Bar. 

The look Dean gives him is pure _what the fuck._  

"I just thought … we can celebrate an easy win, right?" 

"Right," Dean mutters under his breath, but he turns into the parking lot. 

It's a bust, though. Dean downs three whiskeys in rapid succession and then just sits and stares at his empty glass. Sam can tell he wants to order another one but won't because he doesn't want Sam to bitch about him drinking too much. The place is filled with what look to Sam like kids, and the piped-in music is godawful modern pop. He gives up after forty-five minutes. 

“You were right, bad idea. Or at least, totally not our kind of place...” Sam starts to slide out of the booth. “Let's go.” 

“ _Our_ kind of place? Didn't think there was an _our_ anymore.” Dean mutters so softly that Sam thinks he isn't supposed to hear. He stops getting up and stares until Dean looks at him. 

“What?” 

“Dean, look, I know things got … kinda … tense … between us … but it's over, you beat the bastards, and I still think  you should have just … let me go, but I'm here now, and maybe I … understand a little better why you did it, and you are still my brother, okay?” He didn't mean for the words to spill out so artlessly, but he knows some of what Dean did is on Sam because of how Sam let his brother feel abandoned. 

Dean is silent. 

Sam starts to regret saying anything as Dean continues just to stare, his face unreadable. 

“It's late, we're both tired, let's just get a room and head back in the morning, okay?” 

Finally Dean nods. 

They're in the motel room for about a half-hour when there's a pounding on the door. “Winchesters! Open the damn door, we know you're in there!” They are up together instantly, guns in hand, Sam at the door, Dean backing him up. A nod, and Sam twists the doorknob. 

Sam recognizes the two young people who nearly fall into the room. “Where's Dean?” 

“I'm right here, Aiden … Josephine. Why are you here?” Dean frowns. “Where's Krissy?” 

 

“Why don't you tell us, Dean, the last we heard from her she was being stalked by you!” Aiden is fearlessly up in Dean's face, completely ignoring the gun. 

“What?” 

“We were in New Mexico, on a hunt, and Krissy stayed here because she was working on a project, and she called and said you were following her and acting weird … she was scared – “ 

Aiden interrupts Josephine's torrent of words. “She was scared of you, Winchester, and she went to a Wal-Mart because Sam told her to ...” Here Aiden turns to glare viciously at Sam, “And she said you were coming, and then we don't hear anything more, and we get back and the whole damn store was burned down! What did you do to Krissy?!” 

Aiden grabs the front of Dean's shirt. 

“I don't … remember anything about seeing Krissy ...” Dean is ignoring the young hunters, staring at Sam. “Sam?” Dean's lowered his gun hand and is looking for a lifeline from him. 

Sam knows he is walking through a minefield. He keeps his eyes on Dean as he talks. “That's where I found you, Dean, at the Wal-Mart, but I was too late, the fight had gone down. Krissy was … I think one of the demons had killed her. All the demons were dead, and Crowley, and all I could do was to get you out and torch the place.” 

“Nooo!” Sam is knocked back against the door, and Aiden is punching wildly. “Not Krissy, No!” 

“Why didn't you tell us?” Josephine screams, and jumps to join Aiden, but Dean restrains her even as he continues to stare at Sam. 

Sam lets Aiden pound his anger and grief out on him, he deserves it. But once Dean has Josephine under control, he pulls Aiden off Sam. “Stop it,” is all he says to the boy, and the kid starts shaking with body-wrenching sobs. Another minute and Josephine is clutching Aiden and weeping as well. 

Sam rubs along his jaw where Aiden landed a hard blow. 

“Sam?” Dean is simultaneously asking if Sam's okay and was that the truth about Krissy, and Sam nods. 

*** 

Sam is lying. 

He wants to ask, 'Did I kill Krissy?' 

He's terrified of the answer. 

*** 

As he waits for Dean to ask, Sam ties to concoct an answer that's not a bald-faced lie. He can't … but Dean doesn't bring it up. 

He understands, now, how Dean must have felt hiding the secret of Sam's possession by Gadreel – there's a knot in his gut that never relaxes, waiting for when Dean will figure out Sam is hiding what he's done to Dean. Sam's kept secrets before – applying to Stanford, Ruby and the demon blood – but this is different. He's not keeping his own secret – he's hiding what's been done – what Sam did – to Dean. 

Dean's acting different, though Sam can't tell if it's from the hunt or from the confrontation with Aiden and Josephine. Dean wants to resume hunting, and Sam should be pleased, except that the ferocity with which Dean slashes and stabs is even more intense than when Dean returned from Purgatory. It scares Sam. 

“Wipe your face, Dean.” Sam hands him a rag from the Impala's open trunk. Dean seems oblivious to the blood spatters across his face, residue of the three vampires they've just put down. “You don't want to be driving looking like an escapee from a bad horror movie.” 

Dean stares at the cloth a moment like he doesn't understand why that would be a concern, but then shrugs and does as Sam asks. Dean's about to drop the rag back into the trunk when he freezes. Sam follows his eyes and sees Dean staring at a towel-wrapped bundle pressed into the corner by the taillight. Shit. Sam had forgotten to move it. 

He holds his breath as he watches Dean's reaction, the twitching of his hand, the stoniness of his face. The moment lasts longer than Sam can stand, and he puts his hand on the trunk lid. “Watch yourself,” he tells Dean, and slams the trunk as Dean snatches his hand back. But Dean doesn't move, doesn't stop staring at the corner where the Blade is hidden. 

“I'm driving. Get in the car.” Sam gives his brother a rough shove to break the trance and snags the keys from Dean's jacket. 

It's telling that Dean doesn't object. 

Sam finds him that night, out by the car with the First Blade in his hand. The tendons on the back of his hand are popped out with the intensity of Dean's trembling grip. 

“Put it down, Dean,” he says quietly. Sam's careful, afraid Dean's so deeply enthralled that he might strike without thinking at any sudden movement. “Dean,” he tries again, but there's no reaction. Sam continues to approach his brother cautiously until he's within arm's reach, and then Sam grabs Dean's wrist, intending to force Dean to drop the weapon. 

Dean whirls in a frenzy, and suddenly Sam is fighting for his life, using all his strength to keep the wicked jawbone from plunging into him. He yells Dean's name to get through to him, two hands now twisting Dean's arm to keep the Blade pointed up and away from Sam's body. Sam shoulders Dean's chest, but Dean arches behind Sam and his free arm locks around Sam's throat. Dean is growling in Sam's ear, and in desperation Sam lets go of Dean's knife-hand and thrusts both his elbows into Dean's gut. 

The Blade falls from Dean's grasp, and Sam kicks it under the car. When he turns, Dean is ashen, gasping for air and looking horror-stricken. 

“It still has me, Sam, it still has me!” Dean frantically pulls up his sleeve to show the handprint that obliterates the Mark. “Why?” He rubs the scar. “Why? It's gone!” 

*** 

Killer. Killer. Killer. 

It pounds through him with each pulse beat. 

He wakes up tasting blood, feeling its stickiness on his skin, reveling in the crunch of shattered sternums, the gush of pierced hearts. And proceeds to puke up his last several meals in the toilet. 

Because with every kill he dreams, he sees terrified, pleading eyes staring at him. 

*** 

Sam doesn't want to do this. But he has to have answers. So when he hears from Pahaliah again, he tells him he needs to see Gadreel. 

“The Mark is gone, so why is he still under the control of the Blade?” he asks heatedly when Gadreel shows up in the Biggerson's parking lot. 

“I removed the outward sign of the Mark, but your brother wielded the First Blade repeatedly. It may have become absorbed into him. I do not know.” 

“You have to fix him!” 

“Sam ...” 

“You owe us, Gadreel. You owe _me_. You figure out how to make it right.” 

“It is not within my power. But there is someone who may have the answers you seek … the one who bore the Mark originally.” 

“Cain?” 

“Who would know more of the Mark's power than him?” 

Sam weighs whether to involve Dean in searching for a way to summon Cain. But Dean's question when Sam arrives back at the bunker drives Cain from his mind. 

Dean is staring at his laptop, an empty Jack Daniels bottle beside it. He glares at Sam as he comes down the stairs. 

“How many hunters did I kill?” 

“What?” Sam squeezes down his immediate panic. 

“How many?” Dean's face is dark. Sam identifies the self-loathing in it, knows it from his own experiences. 

“What are you talking about, Dean?” 

“Don't treat me like I'm stupid, Sam. I checked. Between the time I left the bunker to fight Abaddon and the time you say you found me in Wal-Mart, someone was leaving dead hunters with pulverized bodies all over the country. I've found a half-dozen stories online so far.” 

“Dean ...” 

“Don't lie to me, Sam. I recognize their faces. I see them when I try to sleep.” Dean lowers his head. “I killed Krissy, didn't I.” It's not a question. 

Sam knows the words are pointless, but he says them anyway. “It wasn't you, Dean, it was the Mark.” And because he cannot bear what he sees in Dean's slumped body, he adds “I don't know if you killed Krissy, she was dead when I got there, and you weren't the only one there who could have done it.” Half-truth, half-lie, he wills Dean to believe it. 

It becomes Sam's obsession to find Cain now. Dean … Dean stares at nothing while he sits and drinks, and Sam knows he is not sleeping. When he finds the ritual in one of the Men of Letters' obscure files, he has to decide whether to involve Dean in the summoning or not. 

Dean decides for him. Sam isn't even aware that Dean's been paying attention to him, until Dean's rough voice stops him as he's leaving the library. 

“You found it, didn't you? A way to summon Cain?” 

A 'yes' is startled out of Sam. 

“I'm doing it.” Dean wobbles as he stands, but there's no ambivalence in his bearing. 

“Together,” Sam counters. 

Cain is more refined than Sam expected, trim peppery beard and ice blue eyes. And he seems very interested in Sam, who stands very still as Cain stalks around him. 

“So this is the brother you couldn't kill,” Cain finally speaks. “In fact, not only couldn't you kill him, you went to Hell to save him. You made bargain after bargain to save him. I don't understand why, after everything he’s done.” 

“He's my brother,” is all Dean says. 

Cain dismisses Sam, goes face to face with Dean. 

“You say that like that is a reason … yet I see the doubt in you that he was worth all the pain.” 

“We're not here to psychoanalyze me, Cain. We called you here to answer questions about your Mark. I don't have it any more,” Dean pushes up his sleeve to show the handprint, “And I want to know why it's still affecting me.” 

“Who did this?” Cain's anger impels Dean a step backward, but Cain seizes Dean's arm to stop him. 

“I don't know.” 

Dean flinches as Cain runs his fingers over the scar. “An angel did this. But it didn't work, did it? You still feel the pull of the Blade, the hunger to kill ...” 

Sam chances speaking. “Why? Why is Dean still affected?” 

Cain doesn't bother to look at Sam as he answers, instead keeping his piercing eyes boring into Dean's. 

“The Mark is just an outward symbol. When you accepted it, you allowed its power into your very being.” 

“So this is it, then? This killer is what I'll always be?” 

“I said when I met you, Dean, we are very much alike.” 

“There's got to be something ...” Sam bursts out, only to stop at the look Cain gives him. 

“Once Dean accepted the Mark it became his destiny. He is the First Knight of Hell … but as it is a Hell without a ruler, he is free to choose where he goes. He will use the Blade, that cannot be changed. It was the first weapon and its power will not be denied.” Cain looks back at Dean. “As long as it exists on Earth, you are tied to it.”

 Still holding Dean's arm, Cain suddenly closes his eyes, then he hisses. “You don't know ...” 

Cain drops Dean's arm and strides to Sam. “You had no right! Were I him, I would kill you for what you've done.” He disappears. 

“Sam?” There is a grim warning in Dean's voice. 

“I don't … I didn't … I didn't tell you about the hunters, or Krissy, all right, because it's like when I was soulless, okay? You said that it wasn't me that killed innocent people and this wasn't you either! It was the Mark!” 

Dean just stares at him. Then he turns and walks away. 

Dean disappears again. 

He takes the Impala, his duffle, his favorite weapons … and he found where Sam hid the Blade, in Sam's own room. When Sam checks in the back of the bottom dresser drawer, he finds Dean's note: _Don't look for me_. 

*** 

He's always been a killer. 

He thinks back to his very first kill, the adrenaline rush, the pride in taking the monster down. Even then he was _wrong_. 

The first time he killed a demon without a thought for the innocent meatsuit it was wearing … and how many, many since that one? 

Alastair didn't break him in Hell, he'd just been denying what he really was for the first thirty years. And when he'd given in, stopped fighting, he'd been horrifically good at destroying souls. 

Now he acknowledges there was pleasure in being so good. In Alastair's praise. 

It makes him want to throw up and he pulls to the side of the road. 

He fights getting his stomach under control, but the memories keep hitting him – the power he felt as he slaughtered the entire vampire's nest when he was turned, the thirst he felt for Lisa's blood, how he barely got away before hurting her ... 

The exhilaration of Purgatory – its purity – was simply unfettered license to kill everything that got in his way. 

Finally he sees the truth in what Cain said. He was 'Daddy's blunt little instrument' after all. 

He unleashes his bloodthirst in hunting. With the Blade he can kill anything. No more need for silver bullets or blessed stakes, though ghosts still require a salt-n-burn. He skips over them mostly, for the reward of grappling with a werewolf and feeling invincible. He thinks the slashes and bruises heal faster than they used to. He tries to keep the human body count down, doesn't always succeed, but refuses to feel bad when someone gets in the way. 

He throws away all his phones and stops scrubbing the blood from under his fingernails. 

*** 

Sam has to find him. 

He thinks back to how hard Dean fought to recover Sam's soul. Dean's soul might as well have been ripped from him. It would be different, Sam thinks, if Dean were dead … but he cannot leave his brother to suffer alone, believing he is something evil. 

Sam wishes Castiel was still here. 

After a few weeks Sam sees the pattern, sees that Dean is going after corporeal creatures that are at the First Blade's mercy. 

He gives his angel army a new task, sending them out in the possible directions Dean might go, charging them with the job of locating him. 

Sam has no idea what he will do when they find Dean. 

*** 

He knows the suited man that has been following him is an angel. He makes himself easy to spot, lures the lame bastard into an alley and has the Blade at his throat without even breaking a sweat. 

“You can't hurt me,” the little man wheezes. 

“I know this isn't an angel blade, but I'm betting it works on angels just as well.” His mind flashes to Cas. His gut tells him that the First Blade, in his hand, killed the angel, and he presses the jawbone harder against this one's neck. 

“Who sent you to follow me? Gadreel? Metatron?” 

“Your brother, Sam.” 

Confusion. “You are working for him? Why would he want to know where I am?” 

“There is a small contingent of angels who do not believe what is happening is right. We followed Castiel until he died, then Gadreel led us until he told us to follow the orders of the Winchesters. Now we do as your brother instructs.” 

“And he told you to follow me?” 

“Our small army is searching for you. When I found you, I reported that and was told to keep you in my sight until he gets here.” 

“Your bad luck.” He slices the angel's throat. Its warm blood spurts in his face. 

All angels are dicks. And he doesn't want to see Sam. 

He dreams of climbing a mountain of eviscerated corpses. A blue-eyed angel in a trench coat waits at the top and says, _This is not you_. He feels the sizzle of the Blade in his fist, then the angel falls at his feet without having been touched. 

He wakes from his nightmare clutching the Blade. 

*** 

Sam has lost enough of his angel company – their vessels are not indestructible – that when he hears Dean killed Pahaliah he calls them off the search. He will find Dean himself. 

Sam drives to Dean's last location, hoping he will be able to track Dean from there. A couple people remember the 'scary dude with the big black car' and Sam even finds Dean's motel room … but then nothing. 

He clicks through websites, looking for hunts that Dean might have gone after next, figuring Dean has a four-day head start. 

He thinks it's hopeless, with that much of a lead Dean could be anywhere. 

He's not expecting Metatron to solve the problem. 

*** 

“I've brought you a present.” 

Dean whirls, knows that oily voice, charges blindly only to hit an invisible barrier. 

“Dean.” 

Dean freezes. 

Sam is standing between Metatron and Gadreel. 

“I didn't ask him to bring me here,” Sam rushes. “But we have to talk.” 

He growls and pushes the Blade against the transparent wall that is keeping him from carving the two angels into the same bloody pulp as everything – everyone – else he's killed. 

He ignores Sam, focuses his rage on the gray-haired face mocking him. 

“You are very fond of your new weapon, aren't you, Dean. I have to say, I am very impressed with how you've mastered it … or should I say, it's mastered you? Either way, your single-minded ruthlessness is truly something to watch. But it's time for the denouement of the story.” 

He sees Sam try to move, be held by Gadreel. But Dean’s target is Metatron. 

“I was there, you know, at the start of the conflict … when Cain killed Abel because of jealousy … or love … or, since they were human, probably both. Brother against brother, a universal theme. Heaven knows, you boys were supposed to act it out before and managed to mess that up spectacularly, so I'm giving you the chance to get it right this time.” 

Metatron waves his hand and the barrier dissolves. 

“You've spent your life protecting Sammy. Sacrificed your wants, your needs, your life, your very soul for him. And how has he repaid your loyalty? By abandoning you. Choosing Stanford, then a demon, then Lucifer, then a girl and a dog over you. And when you do everything in your power to save his life, what does he tell you? That you shouldn't have done it, and by the way, he'd never save you … So why exactly is it you care about him so much?” 

Metatron is right, Sam has never been there for him in the same way … he went to Hell for Sam, became the monster he is for Sam, and Sam … Sam despises him … His arm trembles with the desire for Sam's blood and he strides to where Sam now stands alone. 

He places the tip of the bone against Sam's chest. 

“Kill your brother, Dean. And it will all be over.” 

Sam meets his eyes, and Dean wonders why they are not afraid like all the others in the moment before he killed them. 

“You don't want to kill me, Dean. It's the Mark and Metatron getting in your head.” Sam's voice is quiet, pitched for only Dean to hear. 

Every cell in Dean's body is telling him to thrust the Blade, break the ribs, pierce Sam's heart. 

“I'm not afraid of dying, but I don't want it to be you that kills me, Dean. Because it would kill you. You've spent your whole life protecting me even when I didn't think I wanted it. God knows I've let you down, and I've been angry at decisions you made for me, but you've always been my brother and if you do this, it will be because I didn't let you believe in me.” 

The world hangs on a single heartbeat. 

“End it, Dean!” Metatron commands. “End it and the story will be over! End it and you can be free.” 

Dean’s eyes lock on Sam’s and burn to liquid. Sam realizes what Dean is going to do in the instant before Dean moves and Sam shoves his hand to deflect the Blade as Dean stabs it in his own chest. 

“DEAN!” 

Sam grabs his brother's shoulders, eases his dead — _no, not dead_ – weight down to the floor and stares at the gaping furrow running from the middle of Dean's breastbone to his navel. The shredded flannel of his shirt is turning sodden with blood and Sam is reliving the worst moment of his life _holding his brother's corpse shredded by Hellhounds_ and he is frozen. 

“'S okay, Sammy,” Dean's whisper breaks the memory, “Someone had t'die. Better me 'n you.” 

“No!” Sam can barely breathe through the tightness in his chest. 

He is jolted by a shout and a scuffling noise behind him and turns his head to see Gadreel pierce Metratron with an angel blade. 

Metatron's face shows a moment of shock before his grace explodes from him and Sam closes his eyes against the brilliance. He hears the thud as Metatron's meatsuit drops to the floor and when Sam opens his eyes, shadows of feathers are burned into the concrete. 

It should be a triumphant moment. 

Sam doesn't feel any victory. 

Though his eyes are closed, Dean is still struggling, with shallow gasping breaths that send more blood bubbling out of his chest with each exhale. Sam tears off his own jacket and shirt, then balls the jacket and presses it against the wound. 

“Gadreel! Help me!” 

The angel's shadow falls over Dean. “What is it you want me to do?” 

“Heal him!” 

Gadreel bends, touches Dean's body briefly, then stands again. 

“I cannot.” 

“What the hell do you mean, you can't?!” 

“I cannot help your brother. The damage to him, because it was inflicted by the First Blade, is beyond my ability to heal.” 

“You've got to be able to do something!” 

“I am sorry, Sam.” 

*** 

Dean feels nothing. 

It should hurt, he thinks, and instantly a vicious pain is slicing through him. He flails until his suddenly acquired body connects with solidity. 

I'm dead. 

He opens his eyes to a brilliant cloudless sky, feels grass feathering his arms. Dark hair falls into the edge of his vision. 

“Have a nice nap?” 

“Lisa?” He remembers this day. He hears Ben laughing in the distance. It had been, in that terrible year, one of the good days. 

“Hey, Dean, did you remember to bring the lighter fluid?” 

He sits up with a shock, there'd been no Sam then … but Sam is standing by a small barbeque grill. 

This never happened. 

“It's your heaven, Dean, you can mix up the memories if you want,” Sam grins. 

He gets to his feet. Lisa smiles at him. 

A hand touches his shoulder and his legs barely hold as he turns to his mother’s brilliant blue gaze. 

“Mom?” 

“Hi, honey,” she says softly, the warmth of her voice washing over him in waves of sunlight. Dean feels like he’s made of helium, about to become untethered. 

Ben joins the cluster, bringing someone else into the circle of people standing around him. “Hey, Dean, I met someone who says she’s a friend of yours.” 

A tiny blonde greets him with a hug, “You’re looking a lot better than the last time I saw you!” 

“I’m dead.” 

“Not a problem, so am I,” Jo smirks. 

“Does that mean … no! Lisa and Ben are safe! And Sam … I didn’t …” Dean spins around in agitation. “This isn’t real! I wouldn’t be in Heaven!” 

“Dean …” 

He pulls away from Jo’s touch, puts a hand up to keep Lisa and Ben away, turns his back on all of them … 

He knows where he belongs. 

He is back on the rack in Alastair's dungeon with the skin stripped from his arms and legs and his intestines hanging out. 

Dean screams as Alastair delicately slices off ribbons of exposed muscle, as if Alastair is carving a roast. 

“I knew you’d come back to me, boy,” Alastair whispers. “This is where you belong. Ready to be my star pupil again?” 

How it can hurt even worse than Dean remembers he can’t grasp, even as he remembers the lessons on where to place a blade to inflict the most excruciating torment. He knows he’s going to break and wonders why he should even try to fight it. Alastair digs again and Dean surrenders with a cry. 

“Stop! Let me off!” 

Alastair freezes as a white light floods the torture chamber. 

“Dean.” He knows that gravelly voice. 

“Cas?” he breathes. 

In his iconic suit and trenchcoat, the angel walks past the immobile demon and touches the shackles binding Dean to the rack. As they dissolve, Cas grabs Dean to keep him from collapsing to the floor. As his hands touch Dean’s mangled body it heals. Dean staggers at the cessation of pain. 

“You do not deserve this, Dean. You have always been the Righteous Man. You have sacrificed everything and it is enough.” 

“No.” Dean shakes his head. “It’s not just what I did here, in Hell. I didn’t care what it cost to be able to kill Abaddon. I killed … innocent people … I killed you.” He pulls away from Cas’ touch. 

“I forgive you, Dean. Forgive yourself.” 

Hell dissolves with a thunderous crack and Dean is standing in a corridor of fragmented mirrors ... only, instead of reflecting his face, each shard contains an image of one of his failures ... 

Jessica burning on the ceiling.

Lucifer with Sam's face, his fist pounding again and again.

Sarah Blake's body on the hotel room floor. 

"No!" he cries as he begins to run. 

The striga bending over Sammy.

John's face after he kills it.

Alastair mocking as Dean tortures him for the angels. 

There is no escape. 

Gadreel in Sam.

The demon in Lisa.

Jo. Ellen.

Each of the souls he had destroyed on Hell's rack.  

Dean falls, curls in a ball as the mirror shards become saturated with red. 

*** 

Sam pulls the grisly weapon from Dean's lax fingers and throws it across the room. 

"C'mon, Dean!" he breaths as he feels for a pulse. 

Faint ... slow ...but still alive ... 

“I need to tie this around him. When I lift him, you hold him up.” He feels Gadreel’s hesitation, then the angel kneels next to Dean’s head. 

As he ties his shirt across Dean’s abdomen, Sam wonders how many organs the Blade has sliced. 

“I have to get him to a hospital. You’re going to help me get him to the car.” 

“Sam …” 

“Don’t tell me he’s not going to make it! I’m not letting my brother die after all this! Now help me pick him up!” 

Gadreel lifts Dean’s legs as Sam carefully wraps his arms around Dean’s upper half and they maneuver Dean’s body to the Impala and into the back seat. Sam sees the improvised bandage is already dark with blood. 

This can’t be happening. 

As he starts the engine he gives Gadreel, who is standing silently by the rear door, a final order. 

“Take that damn Blade and destroy it!” 

“I cannot. It is beyond my breaking.” 

“Well then, get rid of it somewhere it can never be found! Use your angel powers to put it on the moon, or shove it in another dimension! And you listen for me, if I call you, you come, you understand? You owe me. Us. You owe both of us, you got that?” 

Sam doesn’t wait for Gadreel’s answer as he peels the car out of the gravel lot and onto the street. 

*** 

Dean does not know how long he has been cowering in the hallway hiding his eyes from the images he cannot bear … but even with his face tucked in his arms he cannot escape the sounds echoing around him – angry voices, accusations, and screams, so many anguished screams from under his hands in Hell … as the cries rise in intensity Dean covers his ears but that does not stop his brain from hearing them and it is harder and harder to breathe, he is drowning in his failures but they do not stop … 

Suddenly a garbled yell is torn from his own throat and he staggers to his feet and slams his fists into the nearest wall. 

“I tried, I tried, I tried!” he sobs as the mirrors shatter under his pounding and the razor-sharp splinters slice his knuckles. 

His next punch swings through air and he realizes that he has broken through the glass wall. Frantic with the possibility of escape he slams and kicks until he can fit himself through an opening, oblivious to the lacerations rewarding his efforts. 

He is free … inside a gray cloud. 

He looks behind, but the prison he just fled is gone. 

The nothingness is worse. 

Dean fights to remain standing, the compulsion to give up, to lie down and surrender, is strong. He wonders why he is still fighting, what he is trying to find. 

He walks. Blood is dripping from his hands, his arms, red stains the slashes in his shirts, his jeans. His footsteps make no sound. 

He is seized with the impulse to break the silence. He takes a deep breath, and challenges the fog. 

“I’m here, mother-fucker! You want me, come and get me!” 

Nothing. The sound is simply absorbed, vanishes. 

His breath hitches. If he is dead, why is he still breathing? With that thought his chest stops moving, he stops needing air. 

He is dead, then. And this is his afterlife – not Heaven, mercifully not Hell – just nothingness. 

Alone forever. 

But this is what he deserves, right? 

He ceases to think. 

*** 

Sam has paced a year’s worth of wear in the waiting room’s carpet. Dean has been in surgery for over five hours. 

He can’t live with the thought that Dean could die thinking Sam didn’t care. Would die thinking his life meant so little. That his death was a good thing. 

*** 

The air shifts and there is a human-shaped shadow in front of him … the mist parts and Krissy is standing there. 

“Hello, Dean.” 

He still doesn’t remember doing it, but he is sure he is why Krissy is dead. His non-beating heart freezes. 

“Cat got your tongue, Dean? You always have something to say.” 

He makes the words come out. 

“I’m sorry, Krissy. I’m just … so sorry.” His throat burns as he speaks. 

“Yeah, I know. Sucks. Thought I’d live forever … or at least till twenty-five. But … guess not.” 

Dean can’t think of anything to say, but Krissy continues after a brief silence. 

“So what happened there? Were you possessed? Where was Sam, why didn’t he stop you?” 

She says it all conversationally, like she’s indulging in idle curiosity, not asking why Dean murdered her. 

“There was a weapon, a … kind of knife, the First Blade, that we needed to, um, kill a really bad demon … but the person who used it had to get marked and I didn’t know what would happen to me when I did it, but I should have and I …” he trails off. He can’t defend himself. 

“So you’re saying that this blade took you over, like demon possession?” 

“No … I should’ve been able to stop it …” It just set free what was already in him, Dean wants to confess, but he can’t say that to her. 

"Aiden must have taken it hard ... I mean, I don't know if we had a  _future_  future ... but we were, well ..." 

"I'm so sorry, Krissy." Dean swipes his hand across his face. "I never wanted ... It shouldn't have happened." 

"It's just pretty boring, being dead and stuck here ... If I'd just gone right to Heaven, I could be with my dad and mom again ..." She looks at him uncertainly. "I mean probably, right? Somebody like me could go there, right?" 

"If anyone should go to Heaven it sh--" he stops as another form takes solidity in the fog. 

"Hi, Dean." 

"Kevin? What are you doing here? Why aren't you with your mom?" 

"Sometimes a guy needs a little alone time, you know." Kevin turns to Krissy, who is looking at him curiously. "I'm Kevin." 

"Krissy." 

"You must be another dead friend of the Winchesters ... we could have quite a party if we gathered together everyone who’s gotten killed because of them.” 

“Kevin …” 

“I know, you never meant it to happen. Good intentions, collateral damage.” 

Dean half-turns in reaction to the bitterness in Kevin’s words.” 

“Do you really think that he doesn’t care about the ‘collateral damage?’” Krissy glares at Kevin. “I don’t know what your beef is, but he’s saved a lot more people than he hasn’t! Sometimes stuff just goes wrong!” 

How can Krissy possibly be defending him? 

“You don’t ...” 

Krissy gives Dean an eyeroll. “Don’t listen to him. I know whatever you did, it wasn’t on purpose.” Her expression turns bleak. “ _You_ wouldn’t arrange to kill someone’s parents so you could make better soldiers.” 

She shifts her body uneasily. “I’m, uh, just gonna keep walking.” She takes a few steps, then, without warning, Krissy flings her arms around Dean in a fierce grip. “It’s good to see you and I don’t blame you and maybe I’ll see you in Heaven sometime, all right?” and she vanishes in the mist. 

“She should hate me,” Dean murmurs uncertainly as he stares where the grayness has swallowed her. 

“Hey, Dean …” Kevin voices catches. “I didn’t really mean it. I mean, yeah, I’m dead when I should be living it up in a frat house … well, not really, I don’t think I’m the frat house type, but it’s not your fault I got mixed up in the whole angels and demons thing … the prophet thing was my destiny … and you probably kept me from getting killed more times than hanging with you put me in danger. I just wish you’d told me about the thing with Sam before he killed me … maybe I could have protected myself or something. But what happened wasn’t your fault.”  

Dean shakes his head in denial. “Yeah, it was. If I hadn’t gotten Sam to …” 

“Would you say it was Sam that killed me?” 

“No!” 

“Did you put your hand on my head and burn my eyes out and turn my insides to liquid?” 

“No but –“ 

“So then why do you think you get to claim all the glory? It was a fucking angel that killed me, not you, so suck it up and go kill the thing that did it!” Kevin is vibrating with the intensity of his words. 

“I, uh, don’t think I can, I think I’m dead …” 

“Not quite yet, Dean Winchester. I think we need to have a little talk about exactly what state you are in right now.” 

And Dean is sitting at a red Formica table across from Death. 

*** 

How many damn times has one of them sat in a hospital at the other’s bedside? Too many, Sam knows. _And how many times has one of us watched the other die?_  

A bizarre question. He wonders if this will be the last time it gets asked. 

Dean’s been patched together and pumped with meds and tubed everywhere and no one can tell Sam what is the prognosis. The Blade didn’t just slice his brother open, the doctors are baffled at the necrotizing edges of the wounds where the Blade touched any skin or organ or bone. Sam could tell them it’s the effect of being cut open by the world’s very first weapon, but he doubts that would help them figure out how to heal his brother. 

He wants Dean to open his eyes so Sam can tell him he’s sorry. Not for being furious with Dean over the angel possession, but for deliberately pushing Dean away with words calculated to cut the deepest. 

He is being selfish, wanting Dean’s forgiveness when Sam wouldn’t give his own. It would have been easier if Dean had just died instantly, Sam wouldn’t be sitting here going over all the ‘what ifs’ … dammit, he’s gone through this too many times. A person is only supposed to die once! 

Which would have been nine years ago when Dean had been electrocuted. Sam tries to imagine where his life would have gone if he’d lost Dean then, and it’s too much to begin to think about. Would any of it have happened? He’d still have had demon blood, still have been Lucifer’s vessel … Only he’d have had to face it all alone. 

Sam pushes himself out of the chair, stands with his head pressed against the window without seeing anything outside. 

When he had been in the hospital bed dying from the trials, Dean had called on angels. Sam needs to talk to someone, needs to figure out what he can – _what he should_ – do. He feels sick and yet he has to … 

“Gadreel, I’m calling you. Get the fuck here now.” 

*** 

“Here you go, two Baconzillas, two orders of chili cheese fries, and two sweet teas.” The red-haired waitress smiles as she set the food on the table. 

“I took the liberty of ordering for you,” Death says calmly as he tucks a napkin in his collar. “And I know you will want to try the apple pie sundae for desert.” 

Figuring there isn’t much more Death can do to him, Dean grasps the enormous burger with two hands and takes take a bite. 

“Damn, this is good,” he mumbles as he chews. 

Death swallows and wipes his mouth before he speaks. “I don’t know why there is such surprise that a fast food chain can produce tasteful meals. It would be counterproductive to prepare food that is inedible.” 

“’S’not that they can’t, it’s just that most of ‘em just go for the fastest way to make ‘em. Now this burger,” Dean contemplates the double patties layered with bacon and cheese, “this didn’t come off an assembly line. And we get a waitress. So it’s not technically a fast food joint.” He laughs. 

“You are amused?” 

“Just thinking that my life is fucking weird, I mean, I’m sitting here discussing fast food with Death.” Dean takes another bite, savors what is probably his last meal. 

“So what’s the deal? I don’t think we’re hanging out for old times’ sake.” 

“No, Dean, you have once again confounded expectations. If I weren’t used to your habit of doing that by now, it would be very annoying. However, I have come to appreciate the relief from boredom that you and your brother periodically provide. 

“It’s time for you to make another choice.” 

*** 

How can he be working with this monster, Sam wonders as Gadreel enters the room. The angel does not even look at Dean’s still body. 

“As I said before, I cannot heal him.” 

“Not even if you possessed him, like you did to me?” Sam has to ask. 

Gadreel looks at Sam emotionlessly. “That is not what you or he would want. So why have you called me?” 

Sam looks down, swallows. “If Dean is going to …” he forces out the word, “… die, I have to let him know I forgive him.” He raises his head again. “I want you to let me talk to him one last time. Put me in his mind, so I can tell him we are still brothers. He can’t die not knowing that.” 

*** 

Dean is waiting. 

Death sighs. “Once again you are the center point of a choice that affects much more than just your individual fate. Your body is dying, and that should be that. However, there are ramifications stemming from the fact that your brother did not die when he was supposed to because of your interference using the angel.” 

The food no longer has any taste. 

“So what are my choices?” 

“You die, and your death, because you are both the Righteous Man and the bearer of the Mark of Cain, will blow open the gates of Heaven. That does not mean you will enter, however.” 

“Sounds like a no-brainer, then. I die, Heaven opens back up for business, the ghosts waiting around in limbo go home.” 

“However there is the other option. If your will to live is strong enough, the physical damage to your body is reversible.” 

“What would be the point of that?” 

“Your brother. The path he takes with you is different than the one he takes alone.” 

Dean looks bleak. “Don’t have a brother anymore.” 

*** 

The hallway contains a sea of faces. Sam recognizes Jo, Bobby … _Jess_ … then there are the people they didn’t save … ones he doesn’t know … he moves down the hall until he is surrounded by scenes from a horror movie, gutted bodies, screaming mutilated faces, and Sam feels sick to his stomach when he realizes these are the souls Dean tortured in Hell. 

These memories have never left Dean. 

He starts to jog down the corridor, trying not to look at the images but he can’t help it. He stops cold when he sees their dad. Stern, unforgiving … Sam feels a rush of anger as he understands this is what Dean remembers … then Sam sees his own face, bangs falling over his closed eyes, and he realizes that is his face when he died at Cold Oak … he resumes walking and puzzles at so many images of himself, moments he doesn’t even recall. 

There is his face with Lucifer wearing it at Stull. 

Then he understands. These are every time Dean thinks he failed Sam. 

He needs to find Dean. 

There is a break in the images, a ragged gap in the mirrors where someone – Dean – has broken through. Sam twists himself through the opening, ignoring the scratches he acquires, and steps into the parking lot of a Checkers restaurant. 

*** 

A shadow drops over the table and Dean looks up. 

“Sam!” He jumps to his feet, not caring that his drink goes flying over the table. He grips Sam’s jacket. 

“Tell me you’re not dead!” 

“No, no, I’m not.” 

“Then what …” 

“Hello, Sam.” Death’s voice is, as always, elegantly calm. “I can’t really say it’s good to see you, but I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re here. I’ll leave you two to talk things over in peace. One hour, Dean,” and his face is stern, “and you need to decide.” 

The restaurant vanishes. 

They are back in the jigsaw hall of Dean’s memories.

“What did Death mean, you have to decide?” 

“Nothing, Sam, I’ve already decided. So why are you here?” Dean focuses on Sam so he won’t see the faces haunting him. 

“What do you remember, Dean?” 

“Killin’” The flatness of Dean’s voice says volumes. 

“Metatron was there. He ordered you to finish the Cain and Abel story … to kill me. Do you remember what you did?” 

Dean remembers the pulsing blood lust coursing through him … and Sam being unafraid … 

He shakes his head. 

“You stabbed yourself instead of me.” 

“Shoulda stabbed Metatron first.” 

“Gadreel took care of him … but he couldn’t heal you. You’re in a hospital right now, unconscious, and the doctors don’t think …” 

“It’s about time.” Dean turns away. If he can find the hole he made, he can get out of this forsaken mind loop. 

He can just make a new opening. He makes a fist and starts smashing the mirrors again. 

“Stop!” Sam grabs his arm before Dean can punch again. 

“I’m getting out of here, Sam, and I’m gonna die and that’ll open up the way to Heaven for the fucking souls that are all stuck here because of Metatron. So I’ll finally do something right.” 

“Wait … who told you that you dying opens Heaven back up?”

“Death. And I figure he’s not gonna lie to me.” 

“So your choice?” 

“He said I get to pick, live or die. But I don’t see any reason to pick door number one.” 

Sam releases his arm. “If … if Death gave you a choice, he must have said what will happen if you don’t die …” 

Dean looks down. 

“No, not really.” 

Sam is standing in the middle of his head. There’s no point in trying to hide anything now. 

“He said my living would make a difference to my brother. But damn fine job I’ve done with that, so I’m thinking you’re better off on your own. Hell, they all would have been better if they’d stayed far away from me.” 

Dean says it baldly, not accusingly, not trying to make Sam feel guilty. 

Sam doesn’t … but he needs Dean to understand. 

“I saw … I see these,” Sam gestures at the images surrounding them, “You think they are your failures. That you were responsible for what happened to them. But Dean, you’re not! You didn’t kill …” Sam gestures at the nearest face, “Pamela –“ 

“I got her involved. She died because of that. All of them, I didn’t save them. Didn’t save you, even when I thought I was. And this business with the Mark … well, I really screwed up with that. I know what I did, Castiel, Krissy, the other hunters, even if I don’t remember …” 

Something in Sam’s face gives it away. 

“What did you do to me?!” Dean is up in Sam’s face, fisting Sam’s shirt. “Why don’t I remember?” 

There is no way to spin this. “I had Gadreel take the memories away.” 

“Gadreel? Gadreel, Sam? How is he your new best buddy? And who the hell gave you permission to mess with my mind? To let _him_ mess with my mind?!” 

“I was doing what I thought was the right thing for you, Dean! Abaddon was dead, Crowley was dead, I thought it was over, and I didn’t want you torturing yourself over the things you did that you couldn’t help! I was trying to protect you from yourself, dammit!” 

“I don’t want you to protect me!” 

“Well, I didn’t want to have an angel in me! So we both screwed up trying to fix each other!” 

Dean draws his arm back and Sam braces for the hit but Dean turns away and shatters another cluster of mirrors. He rains blow after blow until Sam wraps his arms around Dean’s shoulders to stop the next punch. He feels Dean’s heart racing, sees the blood running from his knuckles. 

Dean shakes Sam off, but stops the vicious assault. He wipes the back of his hand across his forehead, leaving red streaks that trickle down to catch in his eyebrows. 

“Dean …” This is it, Sam realizes. Either he reaches Dean now, or it’s over. Dean will take Death’s offer of a meaningful death and Sam will be alone. 

He doesn’t want to be alone. 

But it wouldn’t be right to keep Dean here when he has a chance to find peace … 

“So if you open up Heaven for everyone else, you go there too?” 

“He didn’t say directly … but it didn’t sound like it. Doesn’t matter, I belong in Hell for what I’ve done.” 

And dammit, this, this is what Sam was trying to fix. 

“Who let Lucifer out of the Cage?” 

The randomness of the question makes Dean look up at him. 

“What does … that wasn’t your fault, you were fucked over by demons, and you fucking redeemed yourself when you put him back! What the hell does that have to do with anything?” 

“You’ve told me, over and over, the unforgiveable stuff I’ve done – freeing Lucifer, being soulless, killing Kevin – you say it’s not my fault, you’ve forgiven me, I’ve paid for my mistakes … but look at this,” Sam waves at the wall of guilt, “you’ve never let go of anything you’ve done and most of them you weren’t responsible for anyway!” 

Dean says nothing. 

“Why, Dean? Why do I get a free pass, why do I get to be forgiven, and you don’t? And don’t you dare say it’s because you’re my big brother! We’ve been in this together since you got me from Stanford, hell, demons and angels and who knows what the fuck else have had it in for both of us since before we were born! So either we’re equally at fault for every single person who didn’t make it or we’ve been equally jerked around and the mistakes we’ve made can be forgiven! All of them for both of us!” 

“But I can open up Heaven, Sam …” 

“And I could’ve shut the gates of Hell! But you told me to stop, we’d find another way …” 

“Because I needed you, Sammy. I couldn’t let you go. And I did the wrong thing.” 

Dean is staring down again. Sam has to make him understand. 

“It wasn’t what I wanted. I’ve been … taken over too many times. You shouldn’t have done it. But … I screwed up trying to take care of you, too. The things I said, I was angry and I wanted to hurt you because you didn’t understand why. And I’m sorry. 

“Whatever you choose, you’re my brother. And I want you to know that, no matter how you think you’ve failed, I will always look up to you.” 

Sam stops. There is nothing to do now but wait for what Dean decides. 

Dean is quiet for a long time. Without warning he turns and starts to walk slowly down the hallway, looking at the images. 

“I needed to save people,” he says softly, stopping in front of Ellen. “And it seems like everyone who I got involved died.” 

Sam holds his tongue as Dean continues. “We all knew it was risky, it wasn’t likely that we’d all make it out alive … but too many good people, Sam.” He stops in front of a face Sam doesn’t recognize. “She was killed by a ghost I was too slow in digging up.” Dean continues moving, trailing his fingers along the faces. He stops again. 

“Dad went to Hell because of me.” 

“Dad _chose_ to save you. Exactly like you made the deal for me. You were dying _because of the demon,_ Dean. Dad couldn’t let you go any more than you’ve been able to let me go. And every fucked up thing that’s happened to us is because none of us can let go … I could have shot Yellow Eyes but it would’ve meant killing dad … he begged me to, remember? 

“I know … I know I said sometimes you have to let go. But we stopped the Apocalypse because you didn’t, you stayed with me, you wouldn’t let me fight Lucifer alone. I wouldn’t have been strong enough if you hadn’t been there, Dean. 

“I don’t want to go back to the Men of Letters cave alone. I will, if I have to, if sacrificing yourself is what you really need to do … but I’d rather have my brother with me. There’s got to be another way to fix Heaven that we can find together.” 

Dean is looking at the figures in Hell now. “I tortured people, Sam, I cut ‘em and hurt ‘em and did things I can’t even think about … how can I get over that?” 

“What you did in Hell, that wasn’t you, that was survival. You were being set up, you couldn’t have resisted.” 

“Dad did.” 

Sam steps in front of Dean to block the mirror shards. 

“Then, now … if I ever had to choose between you and Dad, it’s always you.” 

“What about what I did with the Mark?” And even as he asks the question, Dean hears Krissy’s ‘I don’t blame you.’ 

He hears Cas: _I forgive you, Dean. Forgive yourself_. 

He doesn’t understand how they can forgive him, yet they did. 

He looks Sam in the face. “If … if I come back, what keeps me from screwing up again?” 

Sam’s eyes blaze. “There’s no guarantees.” Then he says, like a prayer, “But we keep each other human.” 

The mosaic on the walls vanishes, the corridor is pure white light and Death is standing there. 

“It’s time for you to leave, Sam.” He has time for one last look at his brother, then he is back in the hospital room, waiting. The last thing he hears is Death’s question: 

“Well, Dean?” 

Gadreel is gone. The machines are still beeping, Dean is still unmoving. Sam collapses in the hospital chair and stares at his brother. If this is the end, he will memorize his brother’s face. He wishes he had done things differently … but he must forgive himself too. 

*** 

“You are being given an unprecedented choice, Dean Winchester. So choose. Live or die?” 

He could be a hero, redeem himself for everyone he didn’t save. 

He sees the light in Sam’s eyes right before Death sent him back. 

If he lives, he will have to remember his failures. 

Or forgive them … 

“If I … stay … will it change where I go when I finally do … die?” 

“I am not in charge of your final destination, Dean Winchester, you are. The choices you make if you continue living will determine your final resting place.” 

He thinks of Sam again, takes a deep breath and answers Death’s question. 

*** 

The machines suddenly go crazy, alarms sounding, beeping erratically, and Sam seizes Dean’s cold hand. 

“Dean? Dean!” 

The room is filled with medical personnel, but Sam is immobile amidst the confusion. 

Dean starts choking around the ventilator until someone removes it. His eyes open and he is staring at Sam … and Sam feels his brother’s grip tighten. His lips move and Sam bends down to hear. 

“I’m back, Sam. Stronger together.” 

 

 

 


End file.
